Free To Trade

'Nevertheless, I feel uncomfortable lending someone money if I have never met them,' I said.

'Look, if the Nevada Gaming Commission's thorough investigations aren't good enough for you, then you will never be satisfied,' Cathy snapped.

This was getting seriously annoying. After all, I was the customer. And I wasn't going to buy these bonds until I could get completely comfortable with the owner, his casino, and the industry.

Cash sensed this. He had not become Bloomfield Weiss's top salesman by bludgeoning alone. New junk bond issues carry the highest sales commission, and he was prepared to go a long way to try to land a sale, even if there was only a half-chance of success.

'Look, Paul. If we can get satisfactory answers to your questions, will you buy these bonds?'

'Well, I would need to think about it some more. But there is a good chance I would, yes,' I said.

'OK. Let me suggest two things. First, Irwin Piper is passing through London in a couple of weeks' time. I've met him. He's a great guy. I may be able to fix for you to meet him. Have an informal drink. How does that sound?'

'That would be very helpful. Thank you.'

'OK, I'll call you tomorrow to tell you where and when. The other thing I wanted to mention was our annual High Yield Bond Conference. It will be in Phoenix at the beginning of September. There will be an opportunity to visit the Tahiti in Las Vegas at the end of the conference. You will also get a chance to see the management of a number of other companies that issue high yield bonds. Would you like to come? It should be fun. Cathy and I will be going.'

'Well, thank you very much,' I said. 'I will have to check with Hamilton first, but that does sound interesting. I suppose I will get a chance to see the savings and loan Cathy mentioned earlier.'

Cash's blue, piggy eyes looked at me questioningly for a moment. Then he coughed uncomfortably, and looked at his hands clasped in front of him.

'I'm sorry, client confidentiality. I understand,' I said, although I didn't quite understand.

With that, the meeting broke up.

As soon as the lift doors had closed on Cash and Cathy, Rob turned to me. 'Phew! Don't you think she's gorgeous? Can you believe those legs?'

I couldn't argue about the legs. I could argue about the girl.

'She's all yours, Rob. Talk about arrogant. She makes Cash look as sweet as a kitten.'

'You just didn't like her showing you up like that,' said Rob. 'She obviously knows her stuff. Beautiful, and intelligent too. I'm sure she was looking at me all through that meeting. I think I'll give her a ring and see what she's doing tonight.'

'You must be out of your tree. She'll eat you alive,' I said. But I knew it was no use. When it came to women, Rob was definitely out of his tree, and he would probably enjoy being eaten alive.

As we walked back into the office, Hamilton called me over. 'How did it go?' he asked.

'Pretty well,' I said. 'I'll need to do a fair bit more work on it, but I may well get comfortable with the credit in the end.' I told him some of the details of our discussion. 'It certainly will be worth while seeing the owner. Cash also invited me to their high yield conference in Phoenix. He said there would be a number of companies that issue junk bonds present. What do you think?' Hamilton could be tight on expenses and I feared the answer would be no.

But I was wrong. 'You should go. I'd like to begin buying a few junk bonds soon, and it will be a lot easier if you have seen the managements speak. You might learn something from other investors, too. It's always worth gathering information.'

'Fine,' I said. The idea of going to Arizona appealed, although I wasn't sure whether I would be up to prolonged exposure to Cash's geniality and Cathy's lectures.

'Whilst you are over there, you may as well stop off in New York. It's always worth finding out what's going on there.'

'I will. Thank you very much.'

I had been to New York before, but I had never visited any of the investment banks there. Their trading rooms were legendary, the centre of the world financial markets.

I went back to my desk, and opened the Tahiti documentation. I could use some help with this.

'Debbie?'

'Yes?'

'Are you feeling helpful?'

'No.'

'Would you do me an enormous favour?'

'No.'

'See what you think of this.' I tossed her the prospectus for the Tahiti. 'I'll do the numbers, but see what you think of the covenants.'

'Oh great, thanks,' she said, waving at the pile of prospectuses already surrounding her. 'I'll squeeze it into the half-hour between when I go to bed and when I get up.'

For all her complaining, I knew she would do a thorough job. And although she would never admit it, she approached the Tahiti documents with obvious enthusiasm.

'Oh, by the way,' she said, 'did you see the Gypsum of America stock price is up to thirteen dollars. Not bad, eh?'

'Not at all bad,' I smiled.

At least that little investment seemed to be going right.

CHAPTER 4

I was approaching home. The road became wilder as it made its way up the dale where I was born. Gently sloping banks grew into towering hillsides, a tartan of close-cropped grass, bracken and heather. It had rained earlier in the day, but the clouds had disbanded leaving a pale blue sky. The bright green of the grass and the bracken glistened in the sunlight; even the usually dour dry-stone walls shone like streaks of silver along the hillside. This drive up the dale never failed to invigorate me, no matter how long I had been cooped up in the car.

Eventually I came to a T-junction with a sign pointing straight up the hillside, announcing 'Barthwaite 3'. I turned up an impossibly steep road. In five minutes I topped the crest of a hill and looked down into the small valley in which the village of Barthwaite nestled. I drove down past the hard grey stone cottages, brightened up here and there by geraniums or lobelia sprouting from window boxes. I slowed down as I passed a narrow lane which led down to a large farm. The words 'Appletree Farm' were clearly painted on the white gate. It looked just as well kept as it had when I had lived there as a child. A new cattleshed, some modern machinery, but otherwise the same.

I drove on through the village, crossing the small river and up the hill on the other side. I stopped outside the last cottage, where village turned to moorland. I walked through the small front garden, brimming with hollyhocks, lavender, roses, gladioli and a host of colourful flowers whose names I did not know, and rapped the iron knocker of the front door, which was guarded by half a dozen tall foxgloves.

The small, bustling form of my mother was in the doorway in a moment.

'Come in, come in,' she said. 'Sit yourself down. Did you have a good journey? Can I get you a cup of tea? You must be tired.'

I was ushered in to the living room. 'Why don't you sit in Dad's chair,' she said, as she always did. 'It's nice and comfortable.' I sank into the old leather armchair and within a moment I was plied with scones and strawberry jam, both home-made. I commented on the garden and we spent a few minutes chatting about my mother's plans for it. Next came the village gossip, where I caught up on the latest scandalous activities of Mrs Kirby, Barthwaite's answer to Pamella Bordes. Then there was a long story about the problems my sister Linda was having getting the right covering for her settee, and the usual mild nagging that I hadn't dropped in to see her.

My mother didn't keep still for a moment during this conversation. She illustrated every point with elaborate hand movements and every minute or so got up to refill my cup, straighten up something in the room, or rush out to the kitchen to get some more cakes. Her face was slightly flushed as she talked rapidly on. She was a very energetic woman, throwing herself into everything that went on in the village. Everyone liked her. Despite her tendency to be a busybody, most of what she did or said was motivated by kindness or a genuine desire to help. And people still felt sorry for her. Seventeen years is not a long time in a Dales village.